


The Secret Diaries of Margaret "Peggy" Carter

by Ragingstillness



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aunt Peggy, Epistolary, F/F, F/M, M/M, Nephew Tony, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Secret Relationships, and make bad guys a little more good than bad because I love me some badass ladies, in which I wildly ignore canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-09-30 04:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17217425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragingstillness/pseuds/Ragingstillness
Summary: Following Peggy Carter's death her diaries are released to the public and many hidden secrets come to light.





	1. Prologue

**Internet Explodes as SHIELD Founder’s Diaries are Released!**

Tony flipped the tabloid closed and huffed. Oh yeah there was a lot of activity on the internet surrounding Sharon finally releasing Aunt Peggy’s diaries to the public. Most of it was some mix of inappropriately joyful or incoherently angry.

Yes, newsflash, LGBT people still existed even when their relationships were illegal. From what he’d gleaned from flipping lazily through the news channels on his TV, the main hubbub surrounded several less than heterosexual relationships that Aunt Peggy discussed in her diaries.

Tony didn’t exactly view it as a surprise, considering the revolving door of stunningly attractive women who were always floating through Aunt Peggy’s house when he came to visit. Some were nice, some were awkward, a few of them would give him candy that Aunt Peggy would then forbid him to eat under any circumstances.

Aunt Peggy was also the only one who Tony felt comfortable talking to when he had warm feelings about other boys. He would spend hours jumping up and down and fainting dramatically across Aunt Peggy’s sofa, saying some garbled mix of, “his eyes, they’re just so…shiny,” or, “he’s so strong Aunt Peggy you should have seen him, and I just couldn’t breathe for a moment.”

Aunt Peggy would laugh and commiserate with him, telling Tony that it was adorable to see him so worked up over anyone. She never made him feel like liking boys was wrong or different from liking girls. His parents may have been tacitly aware of his bisexuality, but Tony had only ever come out to Aunt Peggy.

A bell rang, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice following the chime. “Boss, someone at the door for you.”

“Who is it?”

“Agent Sharon Carter.”

Tony set the tabloid down and jumped to his feet. “Show her up.”

Sharon was too young to grow up with him, but he’d been keeping tabs on her throughout the years, at least for Aunt Peggy’s sake.

The bleach blonde came through the elevator doors in a whirlwind.

“Sharon! You look like you’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge.”

“So tactful Stark. I was mobbed by paparazzi on my way up. You’d think they had never heard of gay people before.”

Tony snorted. “Exactly what I was thinking.” He poured himself a glass of ginger ale for something to do. “What did you need to see me for?”

Sharon set a brown paper box down on Tony’s living room table. “As you well know, I released digital copies of my Aunt’s diaries onto the internet, but I kept the paper copies. Steve’s, well he’s still a bit shell-shocked from the news.” She exchanged a sardonic glance with Tony. “I thought I’d leave them with you. You of all people deserve to know what the files actually say, in my Aunt’s own hand, rather than the internet’s summary.”

Tony was touched. “Me? Are you sure?”

Sharon clasped her hands together in front of her. “I’m not stupid. I know you had been paying for quality healthcare for my Aunt until she passed away. And after reading these, my eyes have only been further opened to how much she cared about you.”

Tony set his drink down and crossed the room to stand in front of Sharon. He stuck his hand out. “Thank you. I’m incredibly grateful for this.”

“Don’t mention it. I know you’ll take good care of them.”

“I will.”

Sharon dusted her hands off on her jeans. “I guess I should be going. A former SHIELD agent’s work is never done.”

Tony chuckled. “Take care Sharon.”

Sharon nodded and made off towards the elevators. Tony retrieved his ginger ale from the kitchen counter and made his way back to where he was sitting on the couch before.

The box before him weighed heavily on his mind. Sharon had said it contained Aunt Peggy’s thoughts on him. Despite knowing how much she loved him, it still threw him for a loop a little. Would she mention her disappointments with him? Aunt Peggy was never one to lie to herself and her journals were sure to be brutally honest.

Tony took a deep breath. He’d just have to give it a go anyway. Otherwise the box would torment him. The tape holding the box shut was weak and after Tony had waved away an obligatory cloud of dust, he spotted several small bound notebooks arrayed in the box.

He plucked out the first one, turning it over. The date on the back was earlier than any of the others. _Well, here goes nothing_ , he thought. Tony opened the front cover and began to read.


	2. July 18th, 1948

It’s been one year since the mess with Zero Matter was finished. And yet everything still has gone bollocks up.

The SSR is crumbling with the arrests of members of the Arena Club and those in their pockets. It feels like every time I turn round, another member of our office is being dragged away in handcuffs. And then the next week I’ll see the people who had arrested the previous men leaving in their own set of steel bracelets.

It took an awful lot of groveling, but the detestable Jack has managed to retain a job. He is still as offensive as ever but at least he’s directing it into his work rather than his coworkers.

Daniel has been lovely if a little uncomfortable around me. We shared a stunning victory kiss following the wrap up of our Zero Matter case, but just a few dates later it became desperately clear that we would not work as romantic partners. Physically everything was fine, of course, but we didn’t see the world in quite the same way. And there was also the little matter of us both being desperately in love with other people.

Ah well. At least we gave it at try. But it remains a bit infuriating to me how he still insists on being overly respectful towards me, as if blaming himself for our relationship’s failure. I have tried over and over to reassure him that it was not his fault, but he will hear none of it. Ana tells me it’s typical male stubbornness, and to let him take the blame until he is ready to get rid of it.

Ana’s spirits have increased dramatically in the past six months. For a very long time she suffered a crippling depression following the wound that lost her the possibility of biological children. Mr. Jarvis does his best to comfort her, but he is only a man, and no amount of love can truly make him understand the loss that Ana feels.

However, Howard has recently taken up with a lovely young lady by the name of Maria. She is thoroughly too good for him and I approve of her entirely.

Ana’s spirits have been buoyed vicariously by their relationship, it having lasted much longer than any of Howard’s previous liaisons. That little spark of hope has encouraged her to begin painting again, though standing for long periods of time still irritates the wound in her side.

I would hunt down Whitney Frost and pistol-whip her for what she has done to my dear friend, but as of last report she still sits, alone in a chair, muttering to herself, and I am not a cruel enough woman to take revenge upon someone who will not understand why they are receiving it.

International agents have come in from time to time, claiming to have spotted Dottie Underwood, but she changes her name and her hair so quickly I suspect a few of these reports are merely meant to impress me. I have now been appointed Chief! of the New York branch, following Thompson’s demotion. I am the first woman to have the title. David also gave up his position in L.A., opting to return to New York with me in order to avoid painful memories of Violet. I do so regret how it ended between them, even though it is hardly my fault.

Vernon Masters was a psychopath, but he may have been right about one thing; the SSR will not go on for very much longer. It may be time to start anew. A different agency, one not quite so corrupted, to shield the American people from outside harm.

I try to retain my hopes for the future, and for all of us in the midst of our confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do plan on keeping these chapters relatively short, as they are diary entries. I'm also taking wild liberties with the time line and putting almost no emphasis in following actual historical fact. Cool? Cool. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	3. July 22nd, 1948

Seeing as the Griffith has likely issued me a lifetime ban from their premises, Mr. Jarvis had the sensible suggestion of moving back into the mansion that Howard gifted Angie and I before I left for L.A.

Oh Angie. It has been so nice to see her again. I barely recognized the woman who greeted me at the door, her smile was so large, but her exuberant cry of “English,” and the tight hug I received reminded me. I could tell something exciting had happened in the time I was away.

We sat down for tea and my bum had barely touched the couch when Angie was bouncing up and down, proclaiming that she had been accepted to play a semi-major role in an upcoming musical. She wasn’t going to have all that many speaking lines, but an awful lot of dancing and singing was involved. I am thrilled to hear that someone had finally acknowledged the talent I always knew Angie had.

The show opens in three weeks and Angie has already reserved seats for Ana, Mr. Jarvis, and me. If an SSR mission comes up for once I may stoop to delegating. I want very badly to see Angie’s show.

Speaking of the ostentatious house we are residing in; its owner has recently embarked on an undertaking that is either a work of genius or his biggest mistake. In other words, Howard is being himself.

Nevertheless, this time he deals in more precious cargo than he has before, according to Ana at least. While dusting one of the antique shelves back in L.A. she overheard Howard and Maria speaking in another room. Her curiosity got the better of her and she found a secluded spot to observe them through a window.

They were outside, under the canopy by the pool where Mr. Jarvis lifted his weights. They were too far away for Ana to make out any words but by her account there were heated sentences being tossed back and forth until suddenly Howard got down on one knee and held a ring out to Maria.

Maria, being a thoroughly sensible woman who possesses more than four brain cells, immediately rejected him and left the house in a huff. I expected Howard to give up, but by Ana’s word he has been working, harder than ever, and seems weirdly pleased that Maria rejected him. When Ana served him lunch, she heard him muttering about, “second time’s the charm, or whatever that phrase was.” I fear for Maria, but at least she has the sense to not take Howard at his actions.

I cannot firmly decide whether I wish for her to come around to his thinking. I am loath to hope for any woman to change her own mind when it has been made up, but they seem oddly suited to each other.

Howard has not blundered into any obviously dangerous trouble for the past few months, and, Ana reported to me, after hearing it from the servants of the women who run in Maria’s social circle, that Maria has been in uncommonly good spirits, more prone to laughing at smiling at the world around her. I can only wish them the best and pray that if they do separate, it is at least amicably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went skiing all day and I have such inspiration suddenly. Dear readers, please do not trust my quick updates to continue.


	4. July 30th, 1948

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the use of the word Queer: while it did begin to be used as a negative term for gay men in the early 20th century, before that it was specifically used to simply mean odd or unusual. The literary example I could remember best was And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, which uses the term with its old meaning. Its publication date was 1939 and considering this is set in 1948 I figured I could get away with using its old meaning here. Of course, I’m also being a bit cheeky with you, readers, because, in a positive way, the character I’m describing is indeed queer.

News came over the wire from L.A. There was an explosion at the Patton State Hospital. A few orderlies sustained burns and lacerations from shrapnel, but no one was killed. A surprising turn of events, considering why the explosion occurred.

No equipment was taken from the hospital, nor was it raided, but when everyone had been accounted for, they were missing one patient. Whitney Frost.

I am afraid I scored a rather large scratch into one of Howard’s paintings of himself in the main living room. Oh well, he has them in practically every room, he won’t miss one.

I immediately suspected one of Whitney’s former allies, but all the remnants of the Council of Nine were happily in their cells during the explosion.

Joseph Manfredi contacted me directly to tell me he had nothing to do with it. I don’t even want to imagine how he managed to accomplish that. Apparently, he had been scheduled to visit Whitney and refresh the flowers in her room two days later but neither he nor his men had been anywhere near the hospital when the explosion happened. I rang Howard to check face to face and by his estimate Manfredi is telling the truth.

SSR agents on the scene have given as much evidence as they could to the science department and by Samberly’s estimation, the explosion was caused by someone tossing a Molotov Cocktail onto a line of gunpowder. While the Cocktail is known as a weapon used against the invading Russians in Finland, it still takes its name from a Russian officer. I can’t help but suspect Dottie. But what reason could she possibly have for breaking Whitney out instead of simply killing her? There was no love lost between the two.

I was less than successful at hiding the crime scene photos as I looked them over in my spare time. Angie managed to catch a glimpse of them when I was out of the room, but that glimpse was more than enough to prod her into asking me some very awkward questions.

I am afraid. Afraid of the conversation that I know is upcoming. Afraid Angie will leave, that she will fear me, that she will forbid me to risk my life anymore for the SSR. The last one gives me the most trouble. I have no idea when my mind changed so much, but now when I ponder what my response to that question would be, I find myself genuinely considering bowing to Angie’s judgement. Do I want enough to come home to her safe and sound as to give up what I’ve spent my whole life working for? I’m not sure. And that is why I am so afraid. I hope this situation will work out well, but I have little hope we will not be discussing it in the future.

At least someone else’s home life seems to be a little happier. Daniel has taken to coming into work with quite a spring in his step. He escaped me the first couple of days, but I managed to corner him on the fourth and demanded he tell me the good news.

He flushed, actually flushed, to hear me ask, and mumbled an answer out under his hand, leaning heavily on his crutch. I pressed him and eventually he admitted that he has been seeing someone new. I declared he give me her name right then so that I could make sure something like the mess with Violet would not happen again, but he was surprisingly close-lipped. At least he’s happy.

The other member of our office team who seems in an interesting mood is Jack. With me as Chief, he is now doing the work that I used to be doing, and a part of me has delighted in the little thrill of sending him for coffee or files that I know are hidden deep in the reference room. I can’t let the power go to my head too much, but the little joys are so joyful.

Jack has been acting quite queer recently. Very, on edge. I don’t know whose wrath he so fears, because it certainly isn’t mine. He never mouths off directly, but I know he has only somewhat come up in his respect for me.

Angie’s show is coming up soon. I am excited beyond myself, but I fear how our upcoming conversation will affect my attendance. I can only pray she’ll forgive me in time to not give my ticket to someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I go again updating super fast only to never come back to the fic for ages. Please please don't expect me to be this fast always. I don't want to disappoint people.


	5. August 12th, 1948

It is boiling hot in New York today, but I couldn’t be less mindful of it. Yesterday evening I dressed to the nines and went out, to the premiere of Angie’s show. She had been gushing about it for days, intermittently giving me peeks into backstage life and trying as hard as she could to keep from telling me anything about the story so I would be surprised.

When she was trying to hold herself back her face would flush and sometimes her cheeks would puff out, as if the words were filling her up with air. She’d then rush away so she wouldn’t give in. I find myself resenting that part of the song and dance, because she looks quite fetching with a healthy flush on her cheeks.

Perhaps I should advise her to speak of her show with any men she goes out with. I have been quite surprised to find that there are not as many of those as I would have expected from an up and coming stage actress.

In the few gossip magazines I have perused in moments of extreme boredom, the glitzy women of the theatre always had been photographed with multiple men on their arms, changing from day to night. I suppose Angie is not quite that famous yet and she is too sensible to be taken by that much fancy. However, I do not doubt that Angie’s star will begin to rise on the stage.

The show was last evening, as I have mentioned, and today I am still thrilling with the excitement. Angie absolutely shown. Her dance steps were quick and light and captivating, her voice soft but strong. She had a few moments in the spotlight alone and she didn’t falter once, taking control of the stage heedless of the crowd.

There was one particular moment where she delivered the punchline and I am sure I am mistaken, but for a second, I thought she had met my eyes in the crowd and delivered the line directly to me with a wink.

Mr. Jarvis was thoughtful enough to purchase a large bouquet of roses to meet Angie at the stage door yet at the last minute he pushed them into my arms, leaving me to hand them off to a shining Angie, her smile large enough to almost break her face.

I chanced a questioning glance at Mr. Jarvis afterward, but he just smiled at me, as softly as I’ve ever seen it, and tightened his arm around Ana’s waist.

Today was a brief day off from work at the SSR. Daniel took over in my stead, having already held a chief position, and he rang the house around midday to report that all was quiet on the villainous front for once. I thank my lucky stars that even criminals must rest on hot days sometimes.

A rumor came in from a field agent that Dottie had been spotted in Russia, along with a brunette companion. Daniel and I both dismissed the notion. Dottie was wanted dead by all of her agency and Russia was about the least safe place in the world for her. She was too selfish by nature to risk her own neck for a thrill.

In a couple of days I am leaving the house to visit Sarah, my brother Michael’s widow. Following Michael’s death, all those many years ago, Sarah remained strong, mourning an appropriate amount of time then moving on with her life. The paradox of her logical mind and her gentle empathy helped me work through his death as well.

For all those years Sarah has remained single, even though she is still a woman in her prime and living alone in the house she used to share with my brother. I don’t quite know what to make of it. Far be it for me to judge a woman who feels she doesn’t need anyone, but I would hate to think that Sarah was remaining alone to honor my brother’s memory. With how much I knew he loved her, he wouldn’t have wanted her to hold herself off of love.

I feel for her either way. Sarah is a most hospitable host.

Howard and Maria attended Angie’s show together. To my great surprise they are still together following Howard’s ill-advised proposal and I feel like a reporter with how much I want to know about the inner workings of their relationship.

It’s fascinating to me that Maria, a young heiress who went to college for business management, was still putting up with Howard’s nonsense. Nevertheless, Ana informs me that he hasn’t cheated yet, which is quite the surprise.

Speaking of Ana, she is healing like a charm. She can walk and do basic household chores, as much as Mr. Jarvis does his best to dissuade her. She has completed a few paintings, one of the view out her window and one of Mr. Jarvis himself.

She painted it without his knowledge then presented it to him. He was so enchanted, flushed and happier than I’ve seen him in months. We may be flung into the fray tomorrow but for today, we can rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a new chapter! Any typos are mine, I just wanted to get this chapter out.


	6. August 16th, 1948

I don’t quite know what to say. I’ll admit I am still reeling a tad from the events of the past day. As I write this I am sat upon my bed, wishing I had the strength to stand.

Daniel and Jack made the mistake of leading a suspect to the house in hopes of gaining my assistance subduing the man. They did receive it, but I wasn’t the one who answered the door. God help me, Angie did. Beautiful Angie, whose dream career is built upon her face and body and voice, was flung against a wall before I could come rushing out of the kitchen and throw the man to the ground.

I honestly do not remember what occurred after he hit the floor. My next conscious thought saw Jack and Daniel on either side of me, holding my blood-soaked hands back from a heavily damaged man, whimpering in pain. I was whisked away to another room before I could get a good look, but I broke at least his nose and perhaps one cheekbone.

I am writing this entry with my left hand as my right has a broken finger. Forgive my shaky handwriting. I am reasonably sure the tremor is the result of the injury, but I can’t rule out emotion as the cause.

I was only let back into the room when the injured man had been dragged away. The agents were milling about the room, locking down the scene and cleaning up, but while Angie was slumped over and visibly crying, only Daniel was near her, the rest acting like buffoons at the sight of a crying woman.

Daniel nodded at me when I approached, seeing the fury in my eyes, and switched places with me. Angie fell immediately into my arms, tucking her chin against my collarbone, and wrapping her arms around me. I was quite surprised and concerned, fearing for her injuries. But when I tipped her chin up there was only minor pain in her eyes, fear and shock the more prominent emotions.

Suddenly the eyes of my fellow agents were too much. I had to get her away. I pulled Angie up and nearly carried her into the room where I am sitting now.

I meant to sit her down, but she wouldn’t let me go, pulling me down. I lost my balance and landed braced above my dear friend. I made to pull away, but Angie only cried harder and pressed me to herself. I was grateful to Ana, for coming up behind us, making only a quiet “oh” and closing the door.

It took half an hour to calm Angie enough to make out her words. Normally I would have been furious to be left out of the investigative process, but Angie took priority. I can almost not believe it as I write it. I have always cared for her, but ever since Steve disappeared into the icy ocean, I have never let one person’s being take precedence over the mission. I thought that the mission would save more lives in the long run and that it was more important to save everyone I could rather than who I wanted. And I wanted. I wanted Angie near me, safe and under my protection.

When Angie was coherent the questions began. Who was that man? Why did he come to our house? Most of all why I had taken charge of the men in suits who took the man away and how had I beaten him half to death. They came quick and fast and I couldn’t begin to answer another one before the next came.

I tried to tell Angie to slow down but she didn’t very much like that suggestion. She slammed her fists on the comforter, shaking the bedframe, fire burning in her eyes. Her words still ring in my ears.

“Dammit English! What have you been doing?”

Then she fell silent, hands wringing in her lap. I couldn’t help myself. I reached out to her and replaced them in my own lap. There was no time for secrets, and I couldn’t have kept them if I wanted to. I am now trying to process why but nothing comes to mind besides _it was Angie._

So I told her everything. How I had taken up a position as an intelligence agent following my brother’s death. Clawing my way to a position of respect as a female agent, meeting Steve. Around that point she suddenly burst out laughing, the laughter sharp and brittle but still present.

“You’re Betty Carver!” She said. She paused for a moment then finally met my eyes. “You’re so much different than the radio show.”

I smiled and squeezed her hands. Then I continued. The horror of war, running missions into gunfire, hearing Steve’s communicator cut out as he gave his life for his country, how I mourned, my placement at the SSR and how hard it was to gain respect all over again. I shared all this in a soft tone, but I could barely speak when I recounted how my first flatmate was killed and my reluctance to allow Angie in.

I laid my fingertips over a bruise forming on her forearm. “This is why,” I said. “I didn’t want this to happen to you.”

There was of course more to tell but I couldn’t bear another word. Angie thought about what I had shared.

Then, the most amazing thing. She leaned forward and flung her arms around me, sobbing into my neck again. But there was something different about these tears. I shared them, for one, but they seemed cleaner, a release of emotion rather than the panicked reaction of a body that didn’t know what else to do.

When she pulled back, she, very sincerely, thanked me for my service, which almost started me crying again. The questions began again but I was ready for them and countered with some of my own.

Angie waved off my concerns about bringing work home with a quick shrug and a “Peggy, you are saving more people than you’ll probably ever know. Any way I can help will be worth the licks.”

This reminded me of the sound her body had made when she hit the wall. I coaxed her to turn around and lift her shirt. Her upper and mid back had taken the worst of the hit and I had to trace the bruises, settle in myself what I was fighting for.

When I skipped my fingers over her brassiere, moving towards the more southern bruises she jumped and shivered. I pulled back immediately, fearing I had hurt her. But Angie just looked back and me and smiled tenuously, claiming a muscle spasm.

I felt a strange heat suffuse my cheeks at the image before me. Angie, with her sweet smile, her hair just beginning to fall out of its coiffed state, both arms wrapped around herself, one holding up the hem of her shirt, revealing smooth, creamy skin dotted with blobs of purple and green.

The more I looked, the worse the flush got, and I couldn’t stand to be in the room anymore. I am rather ashamed to say I rushed to the door and called for Ana to bring some medical supplies. When Ana arrived, she began to fuss immediately, and I took my expulsion from the room perhaps a little too easily.

Which brings me to where I am now, somehow ashamed to look Angie in the eye, hiding in my room as I haven’t since I was avoiding a spanking from my governess.

I cannot pinpoint the cause of the shame. Certainly I am displeased to have been revealed to Angie so fully, and to have caused her hurt, even so indirectly. But otherwise I am particularly confused by my own mind and body, which is not a state I usually find myself in.

Angie too has been looking at me when she thinks I don’t notice. Something has to give and while I am thoroughly ignorant of what that something is, I dread it all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while since I updated this and I just started doing some writing sprints with some friends of mine, shoutout to the frostiron discord fam, and I’ve been writing a ton more because of it. I’m so sorry I hurt Angie but the convo needed to happen and Peggy’s finally catching some feelings.

**Author's Note:**

> Finishing rewatching Agent Carter and I got a bad case of the feels. This was written on a dime and very sloppily edited, just fair warning. I hope you enjoy. This is not a story for people who enjoy canon couples from the show. 
> 
> I am sorry to say that if you want to fully understand everything in this story you do kind of have to see the show or at least suspend your disbelief a lot.


End file.
